Lee uttered a short laugh. “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard, friend. What happens at sundown that you don’t want me to see?”
“I ain’t your friend. And I’m telling you now to get out...” He paused; cast a wary glance at the stairwell. “Now, before things turn really bad for you.”
“Bruce darling, why are you being so inhospitable to our guest?” A woman’s voice, indolent and sultry, came from the top of the stairwell.
The day riders scattered like frightened mice into the dark recesses of the saloon. Bruce the bartender blanched his eyes wide. He stared at Lee who cut his eyes toward the door, his expression desperate. Lee didn’t get it. What was the barkeep trying to say?
“Give him a beer,” the woman commanded as she descended the steps like a queen. Her eyes riveted him in a way Lee found erotic and terrifying at the same time. Somewhere buried in the back of his mind a voice told him to run, yet he did not.
“You’re the woman in the portrait,” he stammered.
“And food. We have plenty to spare,” she said, ignoring his comment. The portrait didn’t do justice to the woman who stood before him. Her skin was the color of fine porcelain, her rich auburn hair piled high onto her head the way he’d seen fancy ladies in San Francisco wear theirs. She wore a red velvet dress that accentuated her curves in a way that made Lee think of things other than his trip to Fort Stockton. She stepped up to him. Her scent was intoxicating, her eyes hypnotic, and her body heat craving sex.
“Ma’am,” he said touching the brim of his hat as he stepped back and found himself buttressed up against a barstool. The woman moved closer to him, appraising him with her spectral eyes, which the artist, Lee noted, hadn’t fully captured. Without looking at Bruce she said, “Darling, aren’t you going to introduce me to this most remarkable man?”
“I can’t say who he is, Miss Phaedra,” Bruce the barkeep choked. He sloshed beer into a glass with a trembling hand. He set it down in front of Lee. “The girl will be bringing out your supper directly.” He shuffled his feet, then wiped sweat from his brow with the bar towel. “That’ll be ten cents for dinner and the beer.”
“It’s on the house,” Phaedra said, her voice husky as she stood nose to nose with Lee. Lee felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Her heat, her breath, her very essence pulsed of power and lust. Lee found himself yearning to bed her, then run away screaming afterward.
“It’s the least we can do for such a rude introduction,” she was saying.
“Yes Ma’am Miss Phaedra,” Bruce stuttered. “Livvy, get your lazy black ass out here,” Bruce shouted over his shoulder. “And Fetch some grub.”
A slave girl Lee judged to be around eighteen came out of the kitchen with a tray filled with food. She eyed Phaedra with a look of pure hatred as she dropped a platter of stew and cornbread down onto the bar with a clatter. She looked at Lee with wide expressive eyes. Bruce offered the girl a swift kick in her direction, which she expertly dodged as she scurried back into the kitchen.
“Clumsy slut,” Bruce muttered as he wiped spilled broth off the counter, shaking as if he had palsy.
“Go ahead, and enjoy,” Phaedra said as Lee looked doubtfully at the chunks of meat and potatoes. “Go on,” Phaedra prompted and Lee picked up his spoon and ate, noticing that the girl was hiding just beyond the doorway, staring at him, her expression inscrutable.
“And after you’re finished here,” Phaedra said as she mounted the barstool next to him and sat upon it as regally as a queen upon her throne, “come up to my room. We can have a nice talk.”
“If you don’t mind ma’am,” Lee said, “if it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll just be going.”
“Oh but you can’t,” Phaedra said, one long finely manicured finger tracing his bicep. “Just come up for a few minutes; that’s all I ask. It gets lonely out here...” Her voice faded as she stared out at the day riders who scurried out of the saloon like frightened mice, the doors swinging as if a gale force wind had struck it. “As you can see,” she added.
The sun offered a final blast of dull red light that etched sanguine squares upon the floor. The saloon girls melted into the darkness behind the stairwell. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bruce move his head slightly, his eyes large and round. Livvy, the slave girl, watched from the kitchen door. Lee put his hat on and eased off the barstool. “I best be getting on,” he said.
“On your way to where? And out in the dark too?” She smiled at him and his bowels turned to frozen mush. There was daylight streaming from the windows a few minutes ago, he was certain of that. Faded red from the sun that seemed loathe to set. But now...Lee’s Adam’s apple did a quick two step. How had night fallen so quickly? He wondered. How did I lose my sense of time? When did the slave girl light lamps which were burning brightly on the tables? He absently fumbled for his grandfather’s watch then couldn’t remember why he needed it.
“Are you afraid of me?” Phaedra asked.
She’s right, Lee realized. I’m scared of her. The scarlet beauty who sat so close too him didn’t walk in beauty like the night, but somehow was the night. Lovely Phaedra of the wicked eyes, Lee thought. Phaedra...the woman/queen who smells of death and life; of hushed and obscene things done in the dark where no decent man should see. Lee felt foolish. Casey was just a town. Sure, it was an oddity perched out here alone on the rim of the Permian basin, but a town nonetheless. And Phaedra, as fancy and as terrifying as she seemed, was in reality only a woman. . . Wasn’t she?
He laughed and said, “No offense ma’am, but I’ve never been scared of a woman in my life. Except maybe my ma when she got riled, but...” His voice trailed off.
Phaedra laughed and moved closer. Lee‘s hand slipped to his gun and before he could consider drawing, she placed her hand on top of his. Her hand was smooth, soft, and cool. An image of what he longed for her to do with those hands arose in his mind. He repressed a disturbing urge to grab her by the forearms and pull her toward him, or better yet, pull her into the dark recesses of the saloon, where they could do things in the moment of heat that Lee could never tell the local parsonage.
“Surely you’re not going to pull that thing on me, are you?” she asked, smiling, her eerie eyes never leaving his.
That smile. Lee was lost in that smile. Lost and bewildered as a man could get. He was vaguely aware of her taking his gun, the pistol sliding out of the holster as slowly as a death march. And Bruce, the ever present and ever frightened bartender, took the Colt .45 from her.
“Come on,” Phaedra coaxed. “I won’t hurt you. How could I? I’m just a woman after all. I’m just a sad and lonely woman stranded in a mediocre town with no real intellectual stimulation. It gets so lonely out here, seeing the same people day after day, doing the same things, day after day. I just want a little conversation.” She smiled, her lips pallid in the kerosene glow, her eyes shining as if they had been polished with silver cleaner. Behind the bar, Bruce the bartender whispered the 23rd Psalm in Spanish.
“Come,” Phaedra coaxed, taking Lee’s hand and giving it a gentle tug. Lee found he couldn’t resist as she pulled him closer. His mind became a thin and faraway thing that Phaedra blew away with the touch of her lips.
He allowed her to lead him up the stairs, around the landing and down to the last door on the right. She opened it and he, feeling as if he were sleepwalking, went inside.
Chapter Three
Lee woke up under water. Astonished, he flailed about, his hands slipping along the sides of something slick, hard and metallic. The water was murky brown and contained the coppery taste of blood and sex. He could hear the rumbling roll of what could have been boots clomping nearby. As Lee’s mind cleared, he realized he was in a tub. His fingers explored the edges until he found the rim.
Lee gripped the rim and tried to pull himself up but he was too weak. His grip failed him and his hands slid back down into the water. Before he could consider the concept of being under water and not dead, a hand pl
unged in beside him. It searched for a few moments, then it grabbed Lee by the hair and yanked him up out of the tub. The heavy copper bathtub overbalanced and fell with him and he landed with a slick thump onto the floor in a violent gush of blood and water. Most of the blood he noted as his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness of the room was his own.
Lee expected a strong burning sensation in his nose and throat as he expelled the water, but found there was no pain at all. In fact, there was no breath at all. Before he had a chance to contemplate this new and even more disturbing dilemma, someone grabbed his legs and dragged him across the water soaked rough hewn floor and dumped him against the far wall. He groaned as something hard and cold as death was clamped on one ankle. He struggled to sit up as he heard the disquieting rattle of uncoiling chains. A man’s boot appeared in Lee’s field of vision. He watched, helpless, as the boots’ owner planted it on his chest and shoved. Lee uttered a waterlogged groan as he slid down the wall and landed with a pronounced thump onto his side. He felt the heavy heel of the boot against the back of his neck. “Tie it down fast, Joe,” said a voice above him. “You know how tricky these bastards can get, especially if they ain’t et yet.”
There was considerable rattling and hammering. Lee tried to push the boot on his neck away, but he was as weak as an old woman with consumption. After what seemed like an eternity, Lee’s mind came into focus; sharp and frighteningly clear. He was being shackled to the floor. The man still had his foot on Lee’s neck, and another man working just past Lee’s peripheral vision was making sure the chain was held fast by a plate currently being screwed to the floor next to the wall.
“I’m going to kill you all,” he whispered.
The man with the foot on his neck grounded it down harder. “You ain’t up to killing nothing, except maybe a roach or two if you get hungry that is. And if you’re a good boy we’ll bring you a nice juicy rat in a coupla days.” The man above him laughed. Lee felt rage course through him. The men stood up and moved away. The boot was removed from Lee’s neck but made a forceful swing to his face. Lee rolled out of the way and the boot tip struck him between the shoulder blades. He grunted in anticipation of pain, yet there was none.
As quickly as the men came, they departed, closing the door behind them. Lee heard the unmistakable sound of a bolt being drawn, locking him in.
Lee slowly crawled on hands and knees until he came to the wall. He propped himself up against it, water still leaking from his mouth and nose. He placed his hands on his chest, expecting to feel the natural rise and fall of his ribcage. He started, shocked, when there was none. I can’t feel my breath. He placed his hands on his sternum. I can’t feel my heart. But I felt the man’s boot on my neck, even though I didn’t really hurt, I still felt it. He paused, considering, No, it was more like remembering what it felt like to have someone’s foot on your neck. How can I be alive when I’m not breathing and my heart has stopped? He swallowed hard, and realized with some relief that at least was still working. What happened to me? He bit his lower lip and thought. That bitch...what did that bitch do?
I’ve got to get out of here, Lee thought, panic rising. I’ve got to get out of this insane town. I’ve got to find that devil woman and I’ve got to get her to undo whatever it was she did.
Instead, he lost consciousness. He slept, propped up against the wall, his dreams a scattering of disturbing images colored in blood. Just as Lee thought he was getting a handle on what his feverish mind was trying to tell him, a great cold blast of water slammed him in the face. Lee woke with a startled gasp. Bloody water spilled into great rivulets onto the floor. He shook his head and regretted it instantly. He leaned against the wall, feeling sick and disoriented. He heard the thumping of boots and peeled his eyes open long enough to see one of the day riders he met the night (was it only last night?) before moving quickly out of his range. The man was carrying a bucket, the sunlight glistened on it and it made him feel violently ill. Lee turned away. “She got you good didn’t she, boy?” the day rider snickered. Before Lee could respond, the door opened and closed again. Once again he heard the bolt slide back.
I’ll kill you next, Lee thought. After I do away with that she devil, I’ll come get you. I’ll come get all of you.
Lee looked down at his legs. His right leg was shackled in a manacle he’d seen used to transport slaves to market, or prisoners to the gallows. A long thick chain was bolted onto a cast iron plate on the floor. He pulled at the chain but it held firm. He moved into the dim reddish light. He leapt back, crying out as the sunlight scalded him. It felt as if he’d been branded. The sickly sweet smell of burning decaying flesh filled the air. He fell as he tried to flee the light and scuttled away into a darkened corner of the room. The darkness was cool, soothing, and most of all, healing. He turned around and looked at his right flank and upper thigh where the sunbeam struck him. He stared in astonishment as the charred flesh healed itself. He leaned against the wall, his body heavy, his head throbbing and dull, his thoughts as scattered as leaves on an autumn wind. And there was something else as well. It was a profound deepening ache within him, a strange craving for something, something that his befuddled mind couldn’t name. Where had she gone? He asked himself. Where was the bitch? There was a woman...
Lee sat, naked with his legs stretched straight out and his head lolling a bit, his flank complaining of an acidic burn, the chain on his ankle dead cold and curiously itchy. The deepening craving descended on him once again. His belly rumbled. His loins began to stir.
****
As if on cue, Lee heard the sound of hard soled cowboy boots clomping up the stairs. The bolt slid back and the door opened. Two men—the day runners Lee had seen earlier—forced a very reluctant gentleman wearing a gambler’s jacket into the room. Lee’s perceptions sharpened, he could smell the fear and sweat on the men, could almost taste their blood. Lee moved. The gentleman whimpered as he struggled to free himself. “Please,” the man pleaded with the day riders. “Please don’t. I’ll pay back what I owe; hell, I’ll give you all the money I got, just let me send a wire to Fort Stockton. I’ll do anything just please oh God not this.”
Ignoring the man’s entries, the day riders tossed the man into the room with Lee, then bolted the door shut. The man ran to the door, beat on the rough wood, rattling the lock in panic. “Hang me, shoot me, send me to prison for the rest of my life. Hell, give me to the Comanches if you’ve got a mind to punish me, but for God sakes don’t leave me in here with that thing.”
Lee barely listened. His eyes tracked the man pounding on the door with the cunning of a rattlesnake about to strike. The man sensed it too, and whimpered like a little boy. “Please, mister,” he sniveled. “Please don’t. I admit it. I cheated. But it was a little cheat. Hell, there wasn’t fifty cents in the kitty. Please spare me and I swear to the Almighty I’ll never gamble again.”
Lee didn’t respond, but watched the man as he slid closer to the window, still simpering, still crying like a lost little boy as he eased closer still to the window.
Lee struck so fast that his prey had no chance to respond. He broke the man’s neck in one fluid motion, and then, as he let hunger take control, he fed.
Chapter Four
After Lee devoured his fourth victim, tossing the carcasses aside as if they were spent whiskey bottles, he propped himself up against the nearest wall and fell into a deep sleep. Within moments he dreamed of Phaedra. She stood atop one of the bald mountains near a cave where the Comanches had painted strange looking beings upon the rocks in glowing silver paint. Her bodice was undone, her red hair flying in the sage scented wind. She called out to him and his body responded. Then the scene changed and Lee was sitting chest deep in a copper tub filled with water that reeked of lilac and gardenia petals. He sat there, his arms hanging limply over the sides, feeling somewhat befuddled but definitely aroused as the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen stood before him wearing a red velvet dress. She stared back at him frankly with her
eerie eyes that carried their own inner glow, as if someone had taken silver polish and gave them a good going over. Her lips were pale, almost as pale as her flesh and as she unbound her rich auburn hair it tumbled down past her waist in thick heavy waves. She slowly stripped for him, first removing the outer garment and letting it slide down her sleek body and onto the floor. She smiled as she tilted her head slightly, unlacing her corset, which strangely enough tied from the front instead of the back. It too, slid off her breasts and down her firm lean belly, pausing long enough to pat her hips as it made its way to the floor.
Phaedra said nothing as she slid, naked and pale as a candle taper into the water before him. Heat had already risen to his face as well as to other regions as well. He slid his hand down his leg and toyed with his penis, which was hard, firm and ready. Phaedra’s hand wrapped around his, and he turned loose, letting her take over the job he had begun.
Then as if time had sped up and he was left a few seconds behind, Phaedra was in his lap. In one fluid motion she slid down onto his member and he stared at her, perplexed yet pleased, as she rose and fell, the gentle sloshing of the water coming up over the rim and spilling like little waterfalls onto the floor.
It wasn’t the sex act itself that he found displeasing, and whatever displeasure he was sensing was vague and unappetizing as if he was doing something immoral and his soul was in jeopardy. Despite the warmth of her outer body, her breasts rubbing up against his chest, the heat of her pallid face, and the auburn hair that tumbled over her shoulders as she rode him, the problem was that that her insides were cold, cold and dead and unresponsive. I feel like I’m in a grave yard, he thought as she pumped him, doing something that’ll send me on the express train to hell. He realized then that there was the reek of death and decay about her, and he yearned to throw her off, yet he could not. Fear, sharp as a knife shot through him. Get off, he told his dream self. And yet his dream self could not. Her thighs clamped unnaturally tight against his hips, her body rising and falling over the heat of his shaft, and although her vagina was cold, there was no pain, and even in his confused state, he felt his own passion rise. He slid his hands over her hips and leaned forward to kiss her but withdrew instantly. There was something wrong with her mouth, something terribly wrong. Even the shape looked strange and distorted. He flinched, and once again considered throwing her off, but found he didn’t have the strength to do so.
Guadalupe's Tears Page 2
